A Letter Left Unsung
by My Sublunary Soul
Summary: The backstory of A, that suicidal orphan mentioned only briefly in the Another Note novel. Our story unfolds in an insane asylum of the past, where L meets A, and... things get a little crazy.
1. Tragic Comedy

**Note**: A tale in honor of A, the successor who never was. After all, everyone knows and loves the ingenious/quirky L, and many know of crazy BB as well. But there's nothin' on A. And according to the Another Note novel, A _did_ exist at one point -- so I shall elaborate on that existence right here.

This is Pre-Wammy's House stuff; it's a prequel for my next story, which will involve all three of the earliest Wammy House generation: L, A, and BB. Also, special thanks to my encouraging beta readers: **Kit-Pocket**, **fireyred**, and **EllieF**! :D

* * *

**"A Letter Left Unsung"**  
Chapter 1: Tragic Comedy

**--x--**

The tragic comedy divine  
Paints the way to peace of mind,  
Leaving shallow lovers far behind.

Past uncertainties combine,  
Bringing tears to sleepless eyes.  
Memory runs the course of time.

Blood runs cold beyond the violet prison, for violent visions.  
And so the broken record plays, as you throw us away.

- _Violet_, The Birthday Massacre

**--x--**

Accidents happen.

But it's to be expected, isn't it? In a place where unstable men are locked in the vicinity of unstable women, _something's_ bound to happen. Yet I will say no more of the matter; I know little of what happened, and I don't care to know more than I do. In essence, the contributions of one unstable man and one unstable woman brought forth the offspring of one baby daughter.

Thus, I was born into a psychiatric hospital. An insane asylum.

The administration chose to keep the embarrassing mishap (me) on a low-profile basis, deciding that the best thing to do would be to place me in the juvenile ward and camouflage me among the other children. If one were to consult my file in the hospital records, it would state that I was afflicted by some bizarre neurological disorder, and _that_ was why I was kept here.

As it turned out, I was the only patient with a totally unimpaired mental state. Somehow, I was the single sane element in an unstable chemical equation. Not only that, but my mental capacity far exceeded the expectations of -- no -- exceeded the _minds_ of the psychologists themselves.

But these things meant little, because in the end, I was simply a patient among many other patients. A single grain of sand on the beach.

* * *

**So Seemingly Inconsequential**

**--x--**

Few events of remarkable worth had occurred until this point. I woke up every morning and went about my routine of day-to-day proceedings, expecting nothing out of the ordinary, for there was never any occasion to expect anything. And if something ever did happen, it was never enough to interrupt nor interfere with my flow of daily routine: wake self, clean self, feed self, read to self, and tuck self into bed.

One day, something happened.

It was so small, so seemingly inconsequential, I hardly even noticed at first.

The asylum was a classic Kirkbridge (1) design, carefully preserved since the late 1800's. The juvenile ward was a more recent addition to the property, constructed as a separate entity behind the main building. A short walk across some lawn was all it took to travel from the juvenile ward to the main institution. I was five years old at the time, and I just happened to be strolling along in that relatively small space between the buildings when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed some small object wedged in a patch of grass. It was a mere coin. Casually, I walked over, picked up the dime, and pocketed it. And that was the end of that.

Little did I know, this chance occurrence was to be the kickoff in a chain reaction of events, which would lead up to the single most significant thing in my life.

**--x--**

"625000! Where are you, child?!"

625000. That was the number imprinted on the steel bracelet strapped across my left wrist. All inmates bore one such accessory. These numbers and these bracelets, they were our identities, as well as the markers which linked us irreversibly to this asylum. Names lost meaning here.

"Here, sir."

Sitting on the windowsill of my dorm, I drew back the curtains and revealed myself. Mr. Seymour Ruvie (2), the head administrator, had just taken the liberty of _barging_ into my room. For what reason, I knew not. I only became painfully aware of the fact that my door did not contain a lock, and, thus, this little intrusion was likely to happen again many times in my life -- much to my chagrin.

"It's the second Sunday of the month. Time for check-ups."

"I don't need check-ups, sir, because I don't need treatment. You said so yourself -- 'you're a waste of time,' you said to me. Remember?"

"Don't you sass me, child! Get up and go to the main building!" He slammed the door.

I pursed my lips and grumbled about the unfairness of it all. I never asked for anything except to be left alone, and he didn't even have the decency to give me that. Ruvie was just so utterly unreasonable. I schemed, secretly, to stick a spider in his morning coffee on some convenient occasion.

Nevertheless, after ten minutes of stalking around the juvenile ward (being excessively slow would spite the old man, I thought), I exited the building and made my way across that familiar stretch of lawn. There was a nice little cobblestone path from one exit to the other, and along the edges of the walk were rows of cheerful blossoms: geraniums, marigolds, chrysanthemums, and other such gaudy decorations. I, however, was more interested in the dainty weeds that grew beyond the path and out among the blades of grass. I particularly favored the soft white ones, the dandelions with the flyaway seeds.

It was here, once again, that something caught my eye.

Something old and brass, I could tell. I marched over and retrieved the item. It looked like a small wind-up key, like something that would be found on the back of a child's toy. I turned it over in my hands, and then dropped it out of disinterest.

I was about to resume walking when an idea struck me. I took the wind-up key in one hand and used the other hand to clear a small area of grass. Brushing the soil flat, I made a little happy face in the dirt with the key, then stuck the key itself in the middle of the face, like a nose. I smiled at my whimsical drawing -- then frowned, because logic told me that I had just done a stupid and pointless thing. Plus, the face was drawn all oblong and ugly.

I clapped the dirt off my hands and proceeded toward the main building without further distraction.

**-x-**

"Ah, hello dear," Dr. Taylor greeted. Then he leaned in and whispered, "And how are you today, my little Amy?"

It wasn't proper protocol for the hospital staff to address patients by their names. However, Dr. Taylor was a strange one; he wouldn't deign to call someone by a number, if he knew their name. Ironically, the only name he knew was mine. This is because, five years ago, he was the teenage apprentice to the doctor who delivered me from my mother. She was a schizophrenic poet, he once informed me, and she had wanted to name me after a legendary flower of Greek myth.

"I'm not little. I'm almost six years old."

The young doctor smiled and patted me amiably on the head -- condescendingly, I thought. I swatted at his hand irritably.

"Right, right. You're getting so big now. So, _Miss_ Amaranthine, what brings you here?"

I pouted. Stop mocking me, you.

"Isn't today check-up day? Mr. Ruvie said so."

"Ah, check-ups are on the second Sundays of each month, dear."

"...Isn't that today?"

"Today is Thursday."

A pox on you, old man.

**-x-**

Walking back to the juvenile ward, along the cobblestone path, I wondered briefly if Mr. Ruvie had finally gone senile. Well, at least now I could go back to my room and continue reading on the windowsill in peace.

It was then that I heard the distant thud of a window closing shut. Turning around, I scanned the many rows of windows lining the back wall of the institution and saw nothing of interest. However, dropping my gaze, I watched a paper of some sort flutter slowly toward the ground. I made my way towards it. Coincidentally, it had fallen in the same exact spot where I had drawn the happy face in the dirt.

As I reached to grab it, I realized that it was not a piece of paper, but a photograph, and it looked like...

Why, it was a photograph of me.

I looked at a close-up of myself walking along the cobblestone path, not two minutes ago. Someone, apparently, had been watching me. The thought was rather creepy. I looked up at the rows and rows of indistinct windows again, backing away cautiously. I didn't know what to think.

"625000! Why are you still dilly-dallying here?"

Instinctively, I hid the photograph in the pocket of my grey institution dress.

"Hi, Mr. Ruvie."

"Don't you 'hi' me! I thought I told you to get to the doctor's office, young lady!"

I had considered showing the old administrator the photograph I had found, but he was beginning to annoy me, so I did not. Instead, I said demurely, "Sir, I went already. Dr. Taylor told me to go back to my room because today's not check-up day; today's not even Sunday, sir."

Ruvie rubbed his forehead and said, "Not Sunday? Ah, I'm getting too old for this..." He stopped to look at me and commanded, "Well?! Go to your room, then!"

I made a noise of irritation and mumbled, "I was _going_ to until you interrupted me..."

"What was that?!"

"Nothing, sir."

* * *

**A Turn of the Tide**

**--x--**

Every day thereafter I made some excuse to travel from the juvenile ward to the institution. Not every day, but sometimes, I found a new object lying in the dirt, where I had drawn the now-faded impression of a smiley face. I kept the objects beneath my bed, where the threat of their discovery was minimal. I had the dime, the photograph, a purple ribbon, a children's picture book, and a lace handkerchief. These small things, though insignificant, were all a part of a greater mystery.

Who was watching me?

I couldn't be sure that this person would do me no harm; I had a vague knowledge of what stalkers and rapists were, so I tried to be careful. Yet I was curious, and every day I returned to the cobblestone path to look for a new "gift." I had no way of seeking out the gift-giver, though, and so I would have to wait until he/she presented him/herself to me.

That's what I called this person: the Gift-Giver.

It was many weeks after I had found the photograph now, and I was again checking the area between the two buildings. The constant searching had integrated as another part of my daily routine. It was during one of these searches that a staff person approached me, tapping my shoulder from behind.

"Are you 625000?"

I looked up.

"Yes, ma'am."

She may have been one of the secretaries from the administration's office.

"Have you seen 828241 or 092293 anywhere?"

They were two of my fellow inmates, a ten-year-old autistic boy and a fourteen-year-old girl plagued by chronic paranoia. I had memorized the numbers and profiles of every juvenile in the juvenile ward. The hospital staff were well aware of my exceptional mental capacity, and they knew that if there was something they needed to find out about the kids, they had only to ask little 625000.

"No, ma'am. But it's twelve o'clock right now, and they're probably eating lunch in the dining hall."

"I've checked it already, and I've checked their dorm rooms as well. They're nowhere to be found." She looked rather nervous. "When was the last time you saw them, dear?"

I paused in thought. "Last week, when we were all getting our check-ups."

"That long ago?!"

I was taken aback by her anxious shouting and replied quietly, "Well, that was the last time _I_ saw them. The kids don't leave their rooms often, so I don't know exactly..."

The woman frowned and wrung her hands.

"Ma'am? What's wrong?"

She looked at me hesitantly, then knelt down and took me by the shoulders. "It... it's nothing. But I need you to do something for me, okay? It's very important."

I met her anxious gaze with innocent wonder. "Sure. I'll help."

"All right. Go to the administration's office and find Mr. Ruvie. Tell him that it's a code R6KFL58Y situation. Can you remember that?"

"Tell Mr. Ruvie 'code R6KFL58Y.' I've got it."

**--x--**

"Mr. Ruvie?" repeated the inattentive office secretary. "Uhh... let's see... Ruvie..." she tapped one painted fingernail against her chin and then shook her head. "Oh, that's right. Sorry kiddo. He went to the Anesthetics Facility an hour ago. You can probably find him up there, though, if it's important."

"It's important," I affirmed.

"Mhm. Well, to get there, you need to go to the second floor of the men's wing and walk all the way down the ward hallway -- all the way down to Section Four. It'll be the third-to-last room, on the left, and it'll say 'Anesthetics' next to the door. It's not hard to find, hon. Just don't be scared when you get there." The woman leaned back in her chair and continued filing her nails.

I wondered what she meant by that -- "just don't be scared when you get there."

**-x-**

There were four sections in all, and I needed to get to the one on the furthest end. Section One looked exactly like the juvenile ward: same beige carpet, same tacky wallpaper, and similar rooms of common use (dining hall, bathrooms, exercise facility, etc.) as well as dorm rooms. Section Two was much the same, except that there were only dorms, and these had locks on the outside.

I was in Section Three now, entering the large double doors which separated the two halves of the men's wing. It was such a stark contrast to the last hallway, I blinked to reassure myself that I had seen correctly.

The very paint on the walls was chipped, revealing a cold, grey foundation beneath it. There was no carpet on the floor; it was merely cement tiling coupled with grime. The whole atmosphere of this hallway was grey and uninviting, and I wondered briefly as to why the staff would leave this place in such disarray. Even some of the ceiling tiles were missing, including certain fluorescent light panels, casting some areas in irregular darkness.

I proceeded down the hall, convincing myself that I would not be daunted. Yet, I couldn't help but notice that the rooms in this section had much more sophisticated outer locks. There were literally prison bars outside the doors, with number pads beside them, presumably used to engage/disengage the locks. And, being the tiny intellectual that I was, I had to ask the obvious question: why were these precautions necessary?

For some reason, I suppose it had never actually occurred to me that I lived amongst psychopaths. This was an insane asylum, after all. I think that the staff purposely sheltered us, the children, from the reality that we were constantly exposed to serial killers and the mentally unstable. The very idea of it was vague, even now, as I made my way through the second half of the men's wing -- the worst patients were here, furthest out in the wings -- and I could not quite grasp it. Granted, many of the inmates were simply suffering from mental disorders, and some had pathological problems, but...

Wow. I lived among the insane.

Moving on to Section Four, I turned the corner at the end of the Section Three hallway and came upon yet another mussed-looking corridor. It was similar to the previous hall, but here, the rooms had steel doors with large number pads on them, as well as various other apparatuses that I could not identify. It made me wary, but I ridiculed myself for being so anxious.

The Anesthetics Facility. I knocked loudly on the door (a normal wooden one, of course) and waited for someone to open it. Meanwhile, I rocked back and forth on my heels and wondered what time it was. After a few moments, I knocked again, louder, because I thought maybe Ruvie's hearing had diminished along with his sense of time and space. Eventually, I grew impatient and simply pushed the door open.

**-x-**

Without warning, a body fell out of the doorway and into me.

A body. Fell. On me.

A dead body.

I was numb and uncomprehending. This was... what was this thing? Not a _body_. It... must be... I didn't know what it was. I gently took the "thing" by the shoulders and pushed it away from me. As I did so, the head lolled back with the face turned upward, making my blood run cold.

I knew the old man anywhere.

Had I not already been in such a numbing state of shock, I would have noticed that I was beginning to lose feeling in the extremities of my limbs. I took a step back and stumbled, landing gracelessly on the tiled floor -- now covered by some viscous fluid. It may have been blood. I don't know. My vision began to turn hazy, and my mind was slowly seeping away from consciousness.

Yet I was awake enough to notice a person standing just within the doorway.

The fumes from the room were overpowering me. Eventually, I saw nothing, heard nothing, and thought nothing. But with the last of my awareness, even as I slid down the wall and into the pool of dark fluid, I strained to see inside the... to see that... if only I could...

That _person_.

If only...

...I...

...identify...

* * *

**Intuition**

**-x-**

I didn't remember falling asleep.

I awoke to the sound of rainfall against my window. It was dark, and, according to the digital clock on my nightstand, it was the early hours of the morning just before daybreak. I fumbled in my blankets, unable to gain my bearings. My mind was still in Section Four, still watching the lifeless... still straining to see... inside...

The door to my bedroom opened, and I screamed.

I panicked. I flailed. I fell off my bed and crawled into a blanketed heap in the corner, howling like there was no tomorrow. It may have been comical, if I had actually intended for it to be comical. But I was horror-stricken.

"Stop making such noise, girl!"

I pried my eyes open (I must have shut them without knowing) and looked up to see Mr. Ruvie himself standing at the door. My heart almost exploded. I had never been so relieved to have the geezer scold me. Ruvie entered my room and sat on my bed, patting the area beside him. I didn't move as directed, so he simply leaned forward to talk to me.

"Miss 625000, please calm down. Just tell me what happened in the garden."

I eyed him strangely. Finding my voice, I said, trembling, "Garden...?"

"The garden with the little stone path, between here and the main building. You ought to know it; you play there every day."

The Gift-Giver's spot.

"Wh... what?"

He sighed, exasperated, and said, "Amnesia, eh? Well, what's the last thing you remember before passing out on the walk?"

I remember you dead.

"I wasn't..." Suddenly, I did remember something. "Someone! Someone told me to tell you 'code R5KFL68Y.' Some lady -- two of the kids were missing -- the office lady said -- I went to find you!" I was half-babbling at this point. Ruvie knitted his brows together, as though confused.

"R5KFL68Y? The toilets are backed up?"

I was speechless.

"N-No... maybe it was... "

"All right, all right. I can see that _someone_ needs time to rest. It's too early in the morning for this." He walked towards me and scooped me up, blanket and all. He placed me in my bed, pulled the covers over me, and said, "Now, no more screaming. Get yourself to sleep." He made his way to the door and left.

I lay back against my pillow and tried to calm my breathing. Now that I thought about it, back when I was in the garden, I had tripped in the grass while coming out of the juvenile ward. It was humiliating, really; I fell on the ground, rolled about two feet, and... did I hit my head? After that, I had gotten up, dusted myself off, and gone on my merry way. Perhaps, after the fall, it had all been a dream. The code, though... the code was a real code. Granted, it translated into "the toilets are backed up," but... No. Maybe I had heard a janitor use it once. That was probably it. Everything had to have been a dream. Ruvie was alive and kicking, after all -- which I was glad for, because when it came down to it, I loved the old man.

But I couldn't shake this _feeling_. Disregarding Ruvie's orders, I climbed silently out of bed. My foot brushed against something wet as I lighted the ground, but I couldn't see what it was, so I reached down to move it.

A bloody dress.

**--x--**

A black limousine pulled up to the front of the asylum. Two figures, a man and a child, rushed through the rain and into the building. Once inside, the man took off his hat and approached the front office, pushing the child gently along.

"L, are you certain that you would like to come?"

"Yes, Watari. I am interested in meeting your son. After all, we are brothers now."

* * *

(1) Search for "Kirkbride layout" on google, and it'll be easier to picture the building structure in this story. Basically, it has two separate patient wings, one for males and one for females, with several different sections in each. The administration's office is at the building's center, and the more benign patients are placed in the areas nearby. Of course, the _real_ crazies are furthest out in the wings.

(2) Lawl. Seymour. xD (For the sake of clarity I will inform you -- _Roger_ Ruvie is the guy at Wammy's House, but Seymour Ruvie is his brother. That I made up. But it is necessary, I promise.)

(x) And in case you didn't notice, A switched up two of the numerals in the "code" during her panic.

* * *

**From the Author: **Well, there you go. We begin the story with a look into A's Pre-Wammy childhood, and needless to say, it's a little... unconventional. (Perhaps even mildly disturbing.) In the next chapter, we'll meet a ten-year-old L, accompanied by good ol' Wammy. Perhaps our favorite detective can slap some justice into this asylum!

But just what is going on...?

Thanks for reading, and drop a review if you've any thoughts/comments, _mes chers lecteurs_. (my dear readers) :D


	2. Weighing Insanity

**Note:** Here it is: part two of the murder mystery. This is a slow chapter, and I'm sorry for that, but it builds up to the next. Because, the next one... you'll see. For now, distract yourselves with the ever adorable kid!L.

* * *

**"A Letter Left Unsung"****  
**Chapter 2: Weighing Insanity

**--x--**

I am captivated; I am...

Vindicated.  
I am selfish,  
I am wrong,  
I am right,  
I swear I'm right.  
Swear I knew it all along.

- _Vindicated_, Dashboard Confessional

**--x--**

An hour ago, Watari and L had been sitting in silence at the front of the limousine, driving through a dark nor'easter -- one of those large rainstorms with the heavy gales, prevalent in the northeastern United States. L was forced to sit in a semi-normal position, due to Watari's insistence that he wear a seat belt properly. It made him restless, and his intellectual acuteness seemed to fall dramatically.

Therefore, when L began to harass Watari with questions, he failed to observe that he was being a nuisance.

"Watari."

There he goes again. His seventh consecutive inquiry and counting.

"Yes, L?"

"Are there bakeries in New England?"

"There are bakeries in most modern civilizations, L."

...

"Watari."

"Yes?"

"If you could drive through that puddle over there, it would be most entertaining."

"That would be unwise, L. Our car may become stuck in the mud."

...

"Watari."

"_Yes_, L?"

"What does it mean to be insane?"

The man was without an immediate answer. Eventually, he glanced at his ward and replied, "An insane person is someone who is not of sound mind." And his eyes returned to the road, feeling that no further discussion was necessary.

"But what constitutes an unsound mind?"

The man sighed.

"Many things, L. Sometimes, the cause of insanity is a medical problem, and the symptoms of that problem make the person seem deranged. Sometimes, the person has a mental defect that makes him or her abnormal. An insane person is essentially someone who cannot tell the difference between right and wrong."

"And insane people are dangerous?"

"They have the potential to be, yes."

"Then do all insane people have to be locked up?"

Watari's expression betrayed none of the mild hurt that he suffered from the boy's bluntness. After all, he had "locked up" his own, beloved son.

"...It depends on the situation, L."

"And is your son insane?" L persisted.

He meant no harm by his questions. Really, if he had noticed the way Watari's eyes averted and how his fingers fidgeted on the steering wheel, he may have stopped altogether.

"He is unwell... that is correct."

* * *

**A Passing Glance**

**--x--**

"I say, old chap, it's been quite a while!"

"Wammy, you never change."

L itched at the back of his head, bored, as Watari and another gentleman shook hands, conversing like old friends. They were now in the main lobby of the insane asylum, standing near a giant staircase. L put his thumb to his mouth and shuffled a foot uncomfortably. His shoes were soaked, and it was quite an unpleasant sensation.

"Oh yes, and I ought to make introductions. L, this is Mr. Ruvie, and he is in charge of this fine institution. Ruvie, this is L, the prodigy I wrote to you about. I've recently adopted him as my ward."

"His name is... L? As in, the letter?"

L nodded his affirmation.

"What a... unique name."

"A unique name for a unique person," Watari stated proudly.

Again, the men lapsed into a long, unabated, "friendly conversation." L really needed to sit somewhere -- and maybe kick off his shoes. He wondered briefly if there might be a bowl of candies at the receptionist's desk or... well, something to appease his restlessness.

Suddenly, he felt a small tapping sensation against his head, like that of several splashing water droplets. Reflexively, L looked up. He could've sworn, for just a moment, that he saw a tuft of black hair sticking out from the overhanging hallway above. But it was gone.

"Watari."

"Yes, L?"

"My shoes are wet, and it perturbs me. I will be taking them off."

**--x--**

I had to retrace my steps.

After plodding through the rain into the main building, I took the back stairs up to the second floor, making my way down the administrative hallway which overlooked the lobby. I had to revisit the Anesthetics Facility.

The bloodied dress still lay beneath my bed, where I had kicked it out of sheer horror. That one, incriminating piece of evidence was all that was needed to throw my mind into turmoil. My head reeled with all the possible explanations for this phenomenon, this contradicting evidence of Ruvie and the dress. I could find no legitimate answer. I needed something else -- something, hopefully, to reassure me that the dress was a hallucination and Ruvie's death was a dream.

But if I returned to the scene of horror and saw _that person_ again...

Would I even recognize him?

Just then, I was extracted from my thoughts by the sound of voices. Walking cautiously to the side of the hallway and sticking my head between two pillars of the banister, I gazed down at the lobby below. Visitors. And Ruvie was down there as well, making friendly conversation. Perhaps this was a good thing, though; the visitors could keep Ruvie distracted as I proceeded to the Anesthetics Facility.

I retreated from the banister and continued walking down the hall. I was at the door to the ward hallway, Section One, when I heard the sound of footsteps thumping up the stairs. One person, I discerned, ran ahead of the others. Hurriedly, I shut the door -- but not before I saw a boy appear at the far end of the administrative hall, ascending the last few steps of the stairway.

I think he saw me, too.

**-x-**

After L had ascended the last steps, he noticed some movement at the right end of the hall. A little girl stood just inside the door that marked the entrance to the men's wing. Her choppy black hair was matted against her head, dripping wet, and her dress was soaked. She shot him a wary look with her wide, light grey eyes.

L thought she looked insane.

**--x--**

I hurried down the hall. If Ruvie caught me wandering around after giving specific orders to stay in bed, there would be trouble.

And then, I wondered at the irony of it all. There was a potential murderer on the loose, and I was afraid of being discovered by an old man. Albeit, the old man wielded a mighty belt... but shouldn't that pale in comparison to a murderer? Should it? How could I fear something that may or may not exist? I wondered if I was brave, rational, or just blissfully ignorant.

I had turned the corner into Section Two before I realized that the voices of Ruvie and the visitors were still advancing behind me. I tried to pick up the pace, but I stopped after surveying the hall. As we know, the dorm rooms in Section Two housed fairly benign patients, but the rooms were still locked on the outside, just as a precaution.

Why, then, was that one room wide open?

Again, I wondered whether I was brave or simply ignorant. I walked straight to the door and looked in.

**-x-**

It was empty. At least, it was empty of occupants; the room itself was full of junk. I wanted to simply close the door and go on my merry way, but when I heard Ruvie turning the corner of the hall, I sighed and shut myself in the room.

I looked around suspiciously. _How convenient_, I thought sarcastically, _that this room would be open when I needed to hide_. How... utterly convenient. But maybe I was just being paranoid.

I stepped gingerly over the mounds of books, clothes, and miscellaneous objects which littered the ground. I was trying to find a place where I could sit and wait while Ruvie passed by, when I noticed a mahogany vanity sitting in the corner. It seemed rather out place in this hopeless mess of a room, because: one, it was mostly devoid of junk, and two, it had this antique, Victorian look to it. It was lovely, really.

I wandered over to inspect this piece of furniture. Unfortunately, it was tall (and I was short), so I could barely see over the tabletop. Frustrated by this height problem, I wedged a drawer slightly open with my foot, using it as a boost as I pushed myself up. My arms supported me as I climbed clumsily onto the tabletop, inadvertently kicking a few other drawers open in the process.

Eventually, I levered myself onto the vanity. I gazed at my reflection in the mirror, realizing that I was still soaked and disheveled, appearing as though I had given in to some inane desire to flop around in a puddle. But I didn't really care. Rather, I turned to examine the vanity more closely. I noticed that, in one corner of the tabletop, the words "_Mathilde de Lafayette_" were carved in the wood with a flowing, cursive script. I traced these words with a finger, wondering about their significance.

After a while, I tried to climb down again. This proved somewhat difficult, since I was unwilling to jump the three feet down to the floor (because, hey, three feet is a lot when you yourself are barely so tall). Instead, I attempted to use the drawer-foothold tactic again. And naturally, I slipped.

I fell a mere two feet. Nothing to complain about, except that I scraped my knee on some junk sprawled across the floor. However, as I fell, my foot kicked open one of the vanity drawers, causing the contents to flutter out onto my lap.

They were pictures. Of me.

I stood slowly and examined them. Within the drawer lay several more photographs -- no, perhaps even dozens more -- and in every one I was somewhere in that space between the main building and the juvenile ward. There was one photograph that I noted particularly, in which I was standing on the cobblestone path with Ruvie. I only recognized that scene because I recognized that day -- that whimsical day when Ruvie thought a Thursday was a Sunday. Otherwise, I wouldn't have known who was in the picture with me.

Ruvie's head was cut out.

There was no time to contemplate this, for noises could be heard directly outside the room. I frantically pushed all the pictures back into the drawer, and then pushed all of the drawers back into the vanity. Without thinking, I darted across the room and rolled under the bed, just out of sight when the door knob turned.

* * *

**Reconnaissance**

**--x--**

L followed Watari and Mr. Ruvie into the room. The carpet, L noticed offhandedly, was wet against his bare feet.

"Asher," Watari said softly. "Are you awake, son?"

No answer. L peered around the room, which seemed empty. Mr. Ruvie walked briskly across the junk-littered floor, throwing the bed covers aside and revealing more mounds of junk.

"Asher? Asher! Man, where are you?" Ruvie shouted, as if that would actually amount to anything. "Hmm... perhaps a nurse has taken him to the Treatment Center."

"At this early hour?" Watari inquired.

"Well, it depends on his behavior. If he's been acting up, the medical staff will need to keep him under tight surveillance." Watari frowned, and Mr. Ruvie quickly added, "Of course, he may simply be visiting the restroom."

"I should hope so..." Watari said slowly. He and the others exited the dorm room, closing the door behind them. "I suppose we should check the Treatment Center, then."

"Watari."

It had been a while since L had last spoken.

"Yes, L?"

"Perhaps I should wait here and see if he returns."

**--x--**

Still crouched beneath the mattress, I listened for the voices and footsteps to die out. Eventually, when I sensed that the visitors had left, I crawled out of my hiding spot and sneaked to the door. I almost exited, but there was something else I wanted to do first. I returned to the vanity and opened that drawer, digging around for the picture of the cut-out Ruvie and me. I stared at it for a while, and then pocketed it.

Asher. Was that the Gift-Giver? And, simultaneously, could that have been... _that person_ standing inside the doorway? That is, if there had been anyone there to begin with. And if they were one and the same, then...

"Found you."

I swear, I could have gotten whiplash from the way my head gyrated over my shoulder. He even had the audacity to _smile_ after scaring the living daylights out of me. Of course, it was just that boy with the crazy hair and hobo look, one of the visitors.

He bent over slightly and spoke to me, punctuating every word as though talking to an infant.

"Hi. _I'm_ L. What's _your_ name?"

I narrowed my eyes.

"625000. Amy, informally. And don't patronize me, L, or I'll break your spine."

He withdrew slightly, blinked, and laughed. It was a dry, amused sort of laugh. I was highly affronted.

"How old are you?"

"None of your business."

"Why were you hiding from us?"

"None. Of. Your business."

He just looked at me and smiled. I met his gaze, but when several minutes had passed and the silence became awkward, I simply walked around him in an effort to leave the room.

"Are you insane?"

Really. This boy was getting on my nerves.

"Are you homeless?" I shot back.

I exited the room and walked swiftly down the corridor. However, the Annoying One caught up with me easily, for his longer legs enabled him to produce longer strides. He was much taller than I was, by the way. It was like some kind of silent jab at my pride.

"You seem anxious."

"I do not."

"You are being defensive."

"I am not!"

"Are you holding a secret?"

Walk faster. Just ignore him and walk faster.

"Where are you going?" he asked, jogging up beside me.

I stopped and rounded on him.

"I think the question is: where are _you_ going, because _I_ didn't invite you to come along!" I snapped.

His eyes widened and his head tilted slightly. Another of his lopsided smiles spread across his face.

"There's something very wrong here, isn't there?"

...He was perceptive, that one.

**-x-**

Something compelled me to tell him.

I explained how I saw Ruvie dead and then alive. I told him about the bloody evidence beneath my bed, and that I was now returning to inspect the scene of the crime. L was strangely excited by all this news; I thought it was rather morbid. However, as we walked along the hall of Section Three, he began to relate to me several different scenarios that I had not considered. Many were far-fetched, but possible, and I found that he proved a worthwhile companion.

We walked in silence for a while before he spoke again.

"You think that Watari's son is the murderer, do you not?"

"Pardon?"

"Asher, I mean. You think that he is the murderer?"

"Assuming that there even is a murderer... then yes, he would be my first suspect."

"Why?"

My hand rested briefly on the pocket of my dress, where the photograph remained. "Isn't it all too convenient? There's suddenly a killer on the loose, and this guy is missing." L looked skeptical.

"Look, I know we can't jump to conclusions, but the fact that he's missing is actually very shocking. I think it was because Mr. Ruvie didn't want to alarm you, but... patients don't just up and 'visit the restroom' whenever. They follow a strict schedule during the day, and if they suddenly woke up in the middle of the night and had to pee, they'd just have to hold it. The staff lock up after dark; no one's allowed out."

L stared at me with that bug-eyed expression of his, which was easy to misinterpret as deer-in-the-headlights stupidity rather than the profound intellect that it actually represented. "_You_ were out in the middle of the night," he observed quietly.

"Juveniles are treated differently from the adults. I'm not really supposed to be out, either -- which was why I was hiding from Mr. Ruvie, by the way -- but I think this is a _little_ more important than a curfew." 'This' indicating our current investigation.

He continued staring at me.

"What?"

He said nothing, and we both stopped walking.

"_What_, L? I hate it when you just stare like that."

He paused for a little while longer, as if choosing his words carefully. "You stated that you had stepped on the bloody dress, because it was protruding from under your bed?"

"Right."

"Mr. Ruvie was in the room with you, was he not?"

"He was."

"Why did he not see it?"

"It was dark, L, I told you. I had to actually pick it up to see it."

"If it was so dark, wouldn't he have turned on the lights at some point? Especially since you were in a panic."

His words made me think back carefully. "He... did turn them on... after he told me to stop screaming. And then he turned them off as he left the room."

"But he still did not see the blood?"

"No."

He stared at me again, as if he had made his point through my own words.

"L, what're you getting at?"

"Do you know what schizophrenia is?" (1)

Did I know? Of course I knew. Dr. Taylor had explained it to me many times before, for it was the disease that eventually drove my mother insane. I knew what it was, and I knew what L was implicating. His question wasn't a question; it was merely an indirect statement. I answered it as such.

"I'm not insane."

"I did not say that."

"You meant it."

We stared each other down, which was somewhat awkward on my part, because L was a good foot-and-a-half taller than I was. Again, that height problem.

"Amy, if you are not insane, why do you live in an insane asylum?"

"That's confidential information," was my rebuttal.

"Indeed it is."

That was not L.

* * *

**Disclosure**

**--x--**

I turned in surprise, watching as Ruvie approached us. Angrily. Dr. Taylor was with him, along with two other men that I assumed to be visitors. Dismally, I sighed. Exposed.

"Young lady."

I knew what was to come next, and I instinctively inched behind L as a meager defense against Ruvie's fury.

"What, might I ask, are you doing up at this hour?" He always started out in this low tone. Before shouting in my face.

"I... had a bad dream, sir..."

"A bad dream? So, because you had a 'bad dream,' you felt that it was necessary to mosey on over here, through the rain, at ungodly hours of the night??"

Technically, it was morning. But I didn't think it appropriate to interrupt him at the moment.

"Unbelievable. Did I not specifically tell you to _stay in bed_? Are you aware that this is the sixth time this month that I have found you wandering about after dark?! How many times must I..."

Personally, I blamed L for all this. Maybe if he hadn't insisted on tagging along, we wouldn't have been bickering, and I wouldn't have been caught.

My attention diverted from the shouting administrator to the two visitors. The one on the left was sort of old, like Ruvie. (Though, by "old," I meant that they were about middle-aged. Fifty was ancient in my eyes.) However, the one on the right was younger, handsome, and somewhere in his prime. He was looking at me rather intently -- well, everyone was looking at me, thanks to Ruvie's expulsion of hot air -- but I felt uncomfortable under his gaze. Looking at him gave me this vague, nostalgic feeling.

It was then that I noticed the grey bracelet encircling his wrist. Number 144000. When I saw it, I forgot Ruvie, L, and everything else. I only focused on that bracelet, and I only saw that face. I memorized that face.

"Everything," I began quietly, "points to you."

Looking mildly confused, Ruvie hushed up. He seemed about to change the course of his lecture to something along the lines of "Young Lady, this is a lecture about listening to my lectures without interruption," but I cut him off before he could begin.

"But why?" I glanced at the administrator, whom I loved like a father. "Why would you kill him?"

At this point, they were all staring at me with a sort of bewildered incomprehension.

Finally, Dr. Taylor cleared his throat and said, "Miss 625000, are you... feeling... quite all right?"

"I feel just _fine_, thank you," I answered testily. I turned back to the man, who was presumably that Asher person. "And why didn't you kill me, too? I witnessed it."

The man said nothing in his defense; he only blinked at me mutely.

"Miss 625000," Dr. Taylor began carefully, kneeling down to my level, "I think you should come with me, okay? Let's leave these nice people alone, and I'll get you one of those green lollipops you like so much."

"I hate candy. You know that."

Dr. Taylor sighed and appealed to Ruvie instead. "Sir, I believe she is beginning to show symptoms of her mother's disease. I'm afraid that I may have to run some tests and put her under medication."

"I'm not _insane_!" I shouted. "I thought we already established this!"

"Amy, honey," the doctor pleaded, "don't get so worked up. Look, we can go back to my office, and you can tell me everything. Let's straighten things out, okay? But I think you're scaring the visitors, so just please calm down."

I looked at the old man and L's twin impassive faces. I most certainly was not scaring anyone.

However, Dr. Taylor left no room for discussion as he scooped me up into his arms and began to carry me away. I protested and squirmed, but to no avail. Looking over his shoulder, I saw L waving goodbye to me. That Asher man simply stood and stared. Meanwhile, the two older men seemed preoccupied in a conversation.

"Quillsh, don't mind her. I don't know what's gotten into that girl lately."

"It's quite all right; no harm done. She's probably just had a bad dream, the poor soul. Now, Roger, about that tea..."

**Roger...?**

* * *

(1) _Schizophrenia_ - a severe mental disorder characterized by the following symptoms: distorted perceptions of reality, hallucinations and delusions, flat or blunted emotions, disorganized speech and behavior, social isolation, and intellectual deterioration. The risk of developing schizophrenia is higher if there is a family history of the disease.

* * *

**From the Author:** Again, a fairly slow chapter. But isn't hyper-annoying-L adorable? :D (Don't mind A, she's just pessimistic.) His cutesy-quirkiness isn't apparent here, because A is narrating, and her mind is a bit preoccupied right now. But just wait till Wammy's House. xD

Anyway, the next installment features the conclusion of the murder case. It should be up by next week -- I think. :)


	3. The Most Significant Thing

**Note:** Sorry! I said I'd update last week, but I just wasn't ready yet. There were still a lot of things I wanted to tweak and fix up -- and in the end, I had to break this chapter into two. But it's an important one, this. So please forgive me for the delay. From here on out, things are no longer idle and routine in the life of A; truths will be revealed -- and nothing hurts like the truth.

(By the way, thank you to all of the beta readers that read over the chapter for me!)

Hope you enjoy. :)

* * *

**"A Letter Left Unsung"****  
**Chapter 3: The Most Significant Thing

**--x--**

Go on, my love.  
I know you must go.  
But if there were a way,  
I would keep you home.

- _Already There_, K's Choice

**--x--**

Taylor had taken me to one of the patient rooms in the Treatment Center, where I now lay in bed with explicit instructions to go to sleep. 325412, a boy afflicted by Angelman Syndrome (1), was the only other occupant of the room, lying sprawled on the bed next to mine. As promised, the doctor distributed his infernal lollipops to each of us, leaving the jar on the nightstand between our beds.

325412, grinning that disturbing grin of his, contented himself to slurping on a lolly. I, however, flung mine to the floor as soon as the doctor exited.

Racing to the door, I pressed my ear against it and listened for movements outside. There were none. However, when I reached to turn the knob, I found that it was immobile. Curses. The doctor had the foresight to lock me in from the outside.

Frustrated, I spoke to my inattentive companion.

"I'm not insane, you know. I know what I saw."

He ignored me and simply continued slurping.

I was silent in thought for a moment. Then I crossed the room to the computer desk, used by the hospital staff when profiling patients, and switched it on. Clumsily, I hefted myself into the swivel chair to get a better view of the screen. After fumbling with the security somewhat, I managed to enter the male adult patient profiles and typed into the search space.

_# 144000_

One result. I read the file, tracing the words on the screen with my finger.

--

**Asher Wammy**  
Admitted: May 1, 1982 (Seven years ago, I noted.)  
Released: --

Age: 27  
Hair/eye color: black / blue  
Height/weight: 6'2 / 163 lbs.  
Nationality: English / Native American

Placement: Men's Wing, Section Two, Room 228  
Condition: Bipolar Disorder  
Relevant Information:  
- suicidal tendencies  
- social anxiety  
- borderline psychosis  
- convicted of rape

Relations: Mr. Quillsh Wammy (Cell Phone: 0-808-234-2386)

--

Bipolar disorder? (2) That was mildly interesting.

Unfortunately, I was getting nowhere. It had to be this guy, though. There was simply no one else. Yet, the more I thought about it, the more logic tried to convince me that, yes, this was all some kind of grand misunderstanding and, yes, I was faintly delusional. Yes. Logically.

But no. Intuition told me otherwise.

I read and reread the text, but I could glean nothing from it. Eventually, I exited the files and descended sullenly from the chair. Lighting upon the ground, I noticed several lollipop sticks littering the floor; a lot of sticks, actually.

"325412, stop being a pig."

No answer.

I looked over to see the boy sprawled over his bed, his back to me, with a lollipop still dangling from his hand. I sighed, deciding that maybe I ought to get some sleep as well. I crossed the dark room and climbed into bed, turning over on my side. And when I did, I found 325412 staring straight at me, wide-eyed, with that crazy grin still plastered across his face.

Except that he wasn't moving.

His stare was... unfocused. The look in his eyes was almost nostalgic, like... almost like...

_A __dead__ body._

I sat up so quickly that I knocked the jar of lollipops from the nightstand. I scrambled to pick up the fallen objects, my eyes eager to leave that _smiling_ face -- that macabre irony -- that tragic comedy. And so, my gaze fell, for the first time, on the bold print of the jar label.

--

**WARNING**: Lozenges contain high dosages of fentanyl. (3) Do not administer without the supervision of a physician. Do not consume more than two sticks over the course of seven days; lozenges are effective after fifteen minutes of consumption. Dosages are fatal for those under the age of 21. Keep out of reach of children.

* * *

**Warning Bells**

**--L--**

Watari and Mr. Ruvie stood outside the building, shaking hands and _still_ talking. Bored, L used the car keys to let himself into the limousine and perched in his usual position on the passenger seat.

Suddenly, Watari's cell phone began to jingle from within the cubby beside the driver's seat.

L reached in and grabbed it. The caller ID proclaimed "Unknown Number," so he let it drop. It eventually silenced, and L went back to nibbling on the tip of his thumb. However, the persistent thing started up again, displaying the same number. It started again, and again, and again. The young detective became thoroughly annoyed, but not once was he tempted to open that phone. Considering his and Watari's line of work, an unknown number could be dangerous.

**--A--**

I slowly replaced the phone in its receiver on the computer desk. I couldn't reach that Mr. Wammy person -- or, consequently, Ruvie.

I dared not look at 325412 again; I did not want to acknowledge the fact that... well, I already knew without needing to look. But now, I was at a loss for what to do. Approaching the door, I tried feebly to turn the knob, though I knew it was futile. If only I could reach the number pad outside the door and disable the security feature...

A loud beeping noise erupted from the computer. I jumped slightly and turned around. The monitor went entirely black, but there was still a tiny light indicating that the power was on. Eventually, a few, spare words flashed in white text at the center of the screen.

**ERROR  
Full system malfunction.**

I caught the message only moments before the computer shut off and the phone line went dead.

With the low murmur of electrical current gone, the silence became profound. And when the door unlocked, the resounding "click" seemed to thunder in the void of silence. I thought at first that someone was coming in, but then I realized that it was only the security system releasing the latch. The power must have gone out, thus disabling the security.

I hesitated at the doorway, knowing there was something left undone. But I could not will myself to look back at 325412. There was nothing I could do for him at this point -- I understood exactly what had occurred.

I just did not want to acknowledge it.

**--L--**

L pressed his face against the window, staring pointedly at Watari and trying to hint at the fact that he was being excessively slow. Ruvie and Watari were approaching the limousine at snail pace -- and _not_ looking his way, much to L's chagrin.

Yes, yes. There we go, keep moving...

No, don't stop! Nobody cares about your garden!

Sigh.

L's eyes widened against the glass. The two men had stopped ten feet from the car, paused, and doubled back to the front of the building to gawk at some gaudy flowers -- which, by the way, were barely even visible in the dark. L had a sudden impulse to claw at the window. Why couldn't they just _leave_ already?

On a whim, L hopped out of the car and strolled towards the building. As he passed the two men, he announced, contemptuously:

"Bathroom."

**--A--**

It was cold in the Treatment Center.

I padded along the immaculately white tiled floor. The whitewashed walls, desks, ceiling, and -- well, everything -- did not nullify the overbearing darkness. If anything, they only better reflected the stagnant shadows which adorned the rooms. The Treatment Center was the area of the asylum that most resembled a "psychiatric hospital," but I knew little about it, having visited only a handful of times. For you see, I did not need treatment.

The digital clocks which hung above the doorways were blank of face. It gave me a haunting feeling, like walking in a timeless space. Surely, as I made my way down the main corridor, the temperature was dropping as well. The heater was probably inactivated.

I don't know how long I had been walking -- or where I was, particularly -- when I heard the sound of shoes clicking behind me. Not directly behind me, but far off in the distance. The entire center was silent, and I was walking barefoot, for I had left my shoes in the patient room. Those distant sounds echoed throughout the cold and timeless space.

Click-click.

I stopped. I wondered if it was one of the nurses on patrol, and if I could ask him/her to show me the way out of this place. Frankly, I had no idea where I was going; I just figured if I kept going, I'd eventually reach an endpoint with an exit.

Click-click.

Click-click.

Click-click... click... click...

The footsteps seemed to slow, but the nurse was still a long way off, and I couldn't see anyone.

Click... click...

Click.

There was a moment of silence in which I thought the nurse had deviated onto another route. I sighed inwardly and journeyed on. But then, there was this loud roar -- this maelstrom, like someone bellowing incoherently -- and the clicking resumed, becoming gradually heavier as...

CLICK-CLICK

CLICK-CLICK

CLICK-CLUNK

CLUNK-CLUNK

THUD-THUD

Someone came at me, fast.

**--L--**

When L entered the main lobby again, he saw Asher sitting hunched over in one of the plush chairs that lined the wall. He seemed to be fiddling with something in his hands. Curious, L stalked over and perched himself on the chair beside his brother-by-adoption.

"What's that?" L asked, ever direct.

Asher turned his head a bit and then looked down again.

"My mother taught me how to make these," he began slowly, his words deep and deliberate. "I suppose she would be your mother now, too." He continued fiddling with that thing, apparently trying to tie a string or something. The thread was very fine, and his hands, though dexterous, were awkwardly big. "But Mother has already passed away."

L observed him quietly. Asher finished with the string and held it up by the hoop.

"Do you think she would like it?"

"Your mother?" L asked, to clarify.

"No. I was thinking of another."

The two of them fell silent, sitting side-by-side in the dark, unlit lobby.

"...Isn't it strange how time seems to pass?" Asher said finally.

"Children grow up, leave home, and then..." he paused, trailing off. "Time just... passes you by. Especially here," he gestured around them, at the asylum, "where life goes by routine, and the days seem to run together -- always the same old thing."

L thought he must be a lonely person.

Asher lifted his head a little, his demeanor sad. "The first few years were the worst, I think. My mind was troubled, and I caused trouble. I couldn't stand the Ruvie brothers, either. They're twins, you know -- my father's old friends." He paused. It seemed as though he were talking more to himself now, rather than L.

"But gradually, I... Well, you see, there's this one little girl I know. I've watched her grow up, every day. She was always up to something -- putting spiders in Seymour's coffee and whimsical things like that. I wish I could have joined her." He gave a light laugh, which seemed to ease the creases on his face. "For her, time slows down."

He closed his eyes for a moment and said, "I wish she didn't have to live here. There's nothing wrong with that child. She's not like us."

L said nothing. He watched as Asher turned to him, smiling wistfully.

"L... Can I tell you a secret?"

**--A--**

I don't think the person saw me, but the steps were thundering in my direction. Logic said that there was nothing to fear -- this person could probably help me find my way out.

Intuition said, for the love of God, _hide_.

I scampered into the closest room and shut the door. It was darker here than in the Treatment Center, and I could see nothing. I proceeded forward carefully, my arms outstretched and feeling for any obstruction.

I was caught off-guard when I took a step and felt no ground beneath my foot, falling about six inches and nearly losing my balance. My arms flailed and latched on to something, probably a railing of some sort. This was probably a stairway.

Carefully, I clung to the railing and stepped down, one stair at a time. Every now and then, I stepped on a wide, square area of the stairs and had to feel around for the rest of the steps; the stairway seemed to zigzag somewhat, like a fire escape. Or maybe this was a fire escape? I didn't know. But I knew that the Treatment Center was on the fifth floor of the building, the highest story, so I wasn't sure how long I'd be trekking these stairs.

Time became an urgent matter, because I heard the door at the top of the stairs open and shut. A familiar clicking began to trail behind me.

It was a good thing I happened to be barefoot, or else I would have raised a lot of noise when I bolted down the stairway. I nearly tripped twice. I did trip the third time, but, mercifully, I landed on quiet carpet at the base of the steps. I stumbled forward, feeling around for a door, and pushed through.

The clicking became clunking before the door muted everything.

**--L--**

Asher had divulged his secret, leaving L to ponder everything.

L observed the object Asher left him, dangling by a thumb and forefinger. His brother-by-adoption had wandered away a while ago, and he was left alone in the dark lobby. Glancing outside, L realized that the pitch black veil of sky had faded into deep indigo: the first shade to indicate the impending transition from dark to dawn. They must have been talking for a long time, since it was almost daybreak.

L continued to ponder the "secret" and wondered if he ought to tell Watari. Asher had asked him not to, but the man did have a right to know. Something like this... well, L knew that Watari wouldn't disown his son or anything. He may even be happy.

Shrugging, L descended from his chair. He still needed to find that bathro--

A siren blared, and an automated voice could be heard over loudspeakers throughout the asylum.

WARNING. THIS IS A CODE R6KFL58Y SITUATION.  
REPEAT, A CODE R6KFL58Y SITUATION.  
ALL STAFF AND PATIENTS ARE TO BE SECURED IN THEIR DESIGNATED AREAS.  
LOCKDOWN WILL INITIATE IN 10...9...8...

* * *

(1) Angelman syndrome: A mental and behavioral disorder; characterized by constantly happy/pleasant dispositions and speech problems, among other symptoms. Those suffering from this disorder can be easily recognized by their distinctive, broad smiles. (Google image search: "child with Angelman syndrome".)

(2) Bipolar disorder: A psychiatric disorder characterized by alternating episodes of mania and depression, though usually with relatively long intervals of normal mood.

(3) Fentanyl lozenges: A lozenge is a medicated candy. Fentanyl is a medical drug that functions as an anesthetic and painkiller. It's about 81 times as potent as morphine and highly addictive.

* * *

**From the Author:** To be continued!


	4. The Most Significant Thing II

**Note:** Wow! I wonder if anyone's still reading this story -- seems I don't get much feedback from the readers. xD Ah, but that's okay. It may be my fault. I feel like I've spent too many chapters talking about A's past, and so I'll tell you what I'll do. After this chapter is concluded, and maybe one more to tie things up, I'll begin a new story that starts off right in Wammy's. I'll leave this one as a look into A's past, if anyone's interested. But I will start a new story to begin the tale of generation L-A-B.

For now, brace yourselves; things get a little crazy(er) in this chapter.

* * *

**"A Letter Left Unsung"****  
**Chapter 4: The Most Significant Thing (II)

**--x--**

You died all alone,  
And I no longer pray,  
Because if there were a God  
He'd have let you stay.

- _Already There_, K's Choice

**--x--**

**Waxing of the Moon: The Tide is Rising**

**--A--**

(Half an hour ago.)

The door had a manual lock, which I promptly used to bolt the entrance. It didn't necessarily ensure my safety, but it was certainly better than nothing. At least it put some distance between me and that angry person.

Then I stared at the door, realizing that I had seen the lock. I had _seen_ the lock.

There was dim lighting in this room. I didn't recognize this place -- but then, there were a lot of rooms in the main building that I had never been to. So I gazed around. Miraculously, there were three computers along the left wall that were on and fully functional, illuminating the area in a tender blue glow.

The light was faint at best, and all I could discern was that the room looked like a laboratory of some sort. The walls were lined with tall cabinets, and there was a single table in the center of the room, covered in a white canvas. Judging by the various lumps, it seemed like there were small mounds of supplies under the covering.

However, I did not have the luxury to stand and gawk. I walked briskly to the door, yanked it open -- and was immediately assaulted by a rancid smell. For you see, it was not actually a door. Rather, it was a closet...

_A __dead__ body._

What WAS this thing?!

I retreated and slammed the door, horrified. My wretched mind would not allow me to remain ignorant to this, for this was Ruvie's body. It was. It certainly was.

The smell was vomit-worthy, but I did not vomit. The sight was horrifying, but I did not scream. Logic momentarily overrode my fear; intuition told me there was more to this than a single body. I crossed the room, dragged a stool to the center table, and tore off the white canvas covering.

Bracelets and body parts. Hands. Feet. Patches of skin. Other things so mutilated I could not decipher them. I could not. I could not decipher this. This macabre sight; I could not focus. My eyes kept skipping from part to part, bracelet to bracelet, and my mind was locked in numb incomprehension.

_Have you seen 828241 or 092293 anywhere?_

They lay like assembly parts on a conveyor belt, just lying there, the various parts, and the incomplete whole. That sickening mosaic of flesh and bone -- it resembled the upper half of a woman. As my eyes darted around, not comprehending, not really seeing each individual part, yet taking in the overwhelming picture of everything at once, my eyes lighted on a paper. Like the floor plans of an architect. It was the map of a woman's body, and her name was...

_"Mathilde de Lafayette"_

A pounding came from the locked door.

I threw the covering over -- over those -- I -- I threw the covering over them. Leaping from the stool and knocking it over, I scrambled onto my feet and bolted for the door. Not the closet door -- no -- another. My senses blurred as I ripped that door open and darted into the hall.

I must have passed the sign, but I didn't need to see it to know. I knew I had been in the Anesthetics Facility.

I just did not want to acknowledge it.

**--?--**

A figure entered the room and gazed lazily around. A stool knocked over and the canvas shifted: telltale signs of the fact that she had been here. There were only so many exits to the Treatment Center, after all. Before, he had been surprised to find only one body in the patient room, but in the end, it didn't matter. She could run, but she'd never escape.

The person walked, unhurried, to one of the computers and infiltrated the asylum's control center. The electricity was still out in the other parts of the building -- he'd have to revive it. Since he now knew for sure where the girl had run off to, the next move was obvious.

Isolate the target.

It would only take about five to seven minutes to power up the electricity, and she couldn't possibly make it out of the ward hallway in those few minutes. Then it would be lockdown time.

* * *

**Full Moon: The Ocean's Apex**

**--A--**

I halted my frantic dashing when a light flared into my eyes and blinded me momentarily. When I recovered, I looked up to see a man carrying a flashlight, the only illumination in the entire hall. By the grace of this one light, I could see that there were actually a lot of people in the corridor, milling about in confusion. Judging by the now-unlocked doors standing wide open, I reasoned that these must have been patients.

Patients in Section Four. The worst patients of the entire asylum...

"What you doin', girl?"

My mind scrambled for an answer; unfortunately, my mind was still too scrambled.

"B-Bath... bathroom..."

The inmate continued to point his flashlight in my general direction, but he said nothing. He followed me with his eyes as I passed by, first trying to squeeze through the blockade of people in the corridor, then simply pushing my way through. Most were too caught up in their own confusion to notice me ghosting through the hall.

I was at the end of the passage, ready to turn into Section Three, when a commotion arose. For some inexplicable reason, a group of men somewhere began shouting angrily, cursing, and generally making a lot of noise. Then the first punch was thrown; I heard it all the way on the other end of the hall. The impact of the fist could not be heard, but the sound of a person crashing into the wall and various other people caused a noticeable uproar.

Then all hell broke loose.

I couldn't even see, and neither could they. Men simply started brawling in the dark, and I was getting caught in the crossfire. Being short of stature may have actually saved my life -- there was no blow aimed so low as to catch me in the head or neck, though a lot of people seemed to be backing into me or stepping on my feet. Painful, but relatively harmless.

I got out of there as fast as possible. There was absolutely no light in Section Three, but I managed to run along the wall to help me keep my sense of direction. There seemed to be a lot of people and movement in this hall as well, but that was all I could tell.

Not once during this entire time did I think of anything other than escaping. I consciously blocked all other thoughts. Just keep walking. Just ignore the macabre thoughts and keep walking.

I was halfway through the corridor when all of the lights suddenly flashed on. A wave of surprised voices greeted this sudden occurrence, but I did not react. It didn't really matter if the lights were on or not, although... although, I couldn't help but notice...

A lot of the inmates were missing one, maybe several, bodily facets. A bandaged stub of an arm here, a prosthetic leg there, a bandage over one of the eyes...

I immediately blocked all such thoughts. Just keep walking.

Again, I made it down the section without much trouble. It was only then, as I opened the door which separated the two halves of the men's wing, that I heard a voice on the other end of the hall calling for silence. Someone was shouting something, but I neither heard nor cared. At least, I didn't care. Until the men in my immediate surroundings turned and stared directly at me.

I passed out of sight, but not before hearing an inconspicuous whisper float behind me.

"Grab the girl."

**--Asher--**

Nothing seemed out of place when Asher entered Section Two. The lights were back on, as he had seen in Section One. All was quiet and empty.

Then a mob stormed in from Section Three.

"You seen a girl here?!" a man at the front of the group shouted, pointing a dormant flashlight at him.

"No," he said simply. "But do you know if the doors are locked? I need to get into my room."

**--A--**

Déjà vu. Fate seems to have fun repeating itself for me.

I crouched beneath the bed, praying that no one could think to look here. It may have been an obvious hiding place, but there was no guarantee that they would even check this room. I had only been here once before, and no one knew of that.

Even as I thought this, the door opened.

My heart skipped a beat. Footsteps immediately crossed the room and approached the bed, and then... someone sat down on the mattress. I waited with bated breath; I fully expected him to suddenly lurch forward and stick his face under the bed with a crazy grin, laughing an evil laugh, but nothing of that sort happened. The room was simply quiet, as the person sat and I waited.

Then the door opened again and shut, the automatic lock clicking into place.

"Lind?" someone said in surprise.

"Hello again, Asher," said the person sitting on the bed. A voice I knew too well. A voice that made my blood run cold, because I knew. Ever since 325412 ceased to move, I knew. This was the murderer.

_Do not administer without the supervision of a physician._

I was supposed to die, too.

But I... did not want to acknowledge that.

"Where have you been?" this person asked innocently. There was tension in the air, but I sensed that it was something beyond my own predicament. There was this sudden stiffness in Asher's manner -- or, at least, I assumed so from what little I could see of him -- and a heavy silence burdened us all.

"You're still grudging against me?"

"You should know that I won't ever forgive you," he answered, lightly, as though speaking of the weather. "I miss my dear, sweet cousin. But you know, she's never really died. She'll always be with us. She'll always --"

A siren blared, cutting him off. An automated voice could be heard over the loudspeakers, proclaiming:

WARNING. THIS IS A CODE R6KFL58Y SITUATION.  
REPEAT, A CODE R6KFL58Y SITUATION.  
ALL STAFF AND PATIENTS ARE TO BE SECURED IN THEIR DESIGNATED AREAS.  
LOCKDOWN WILL INITIATE IN 10...9...8...

"Well," he continued, rising from the mattress and shouting over the siren, "I suppose I _should_ take my leave."

7...6...5...

"However, I'll need to ask you something."

4...3...2...

"Where did you hide her?"

...1.

INITIATING LOCKDOWN.

A heavy sound fell outside the door, and I knew there would be no escape. Asher waited for the siren to silence before muttering, "'Her' who?"

The other man lurched forward, pinning Asher to the door and saying, in a dangerously low tone, "You _know_ who. After all, you always seem to know exactly where she is."

I gripped the carpet anxiously. Why didn't he break free? Asher was a big guy; he could have easily punched his lights out. But he didn't even move.

Asher said nothing, an infuriating silence.

"YOU _ALWAYS_ KNOW!" the other roared.

There was a sudden struggle, and the man was gradually being pushed backwards, freeing Asher from confinement against the door. But I heard no blows exchanged, only a sort of wrestling and growling between the two men. Eventually, both set of feet planted firmly in the middle of the room, and it seemed there was a deadlock.

"Now, be reasonable, Wammy," the man growled, his voice strained as he continued to uphold the stalemate. "I need to silence her. You can understand, can't you? The need to cover up your mistakes."

_- convicted of rape_

There was silence for a few moments.

"But what would Mathilde think?" was the murmured answer.

_"Mathilde de Lafayette"_

There was another struggle, and the mattress above me shuddered as something thundered against it. An agonized cry was all I heard -- I clutched the carpet ever more tightly.

Someone was then thrown to the floor, face-down, and someone else perched on his back, pinning the person to the ground. Asher. I watched as hands gripped around Asher's throat, and -- oh God -- a blade was pressed against the back of his neck.

It was already stained a satanic red.

Asher began to choke and sputter. He clawed fruitlessly at the hand holding him against the floor, but was stilled when the blade sliced a shallow slit on his skin. A warning. All he could do was turn his head to the side, so that he was not suffocated against the floor.

He saw me.

I went cold, frozen under his gaze. My breath was nonexistent. Every process in my body halted in that moment.

He made no immediate reaction; his expression was pained but unchanged, as though he were simply looking and not looking _at_. But he never took his eyes off me. I don't know what I must have looked like at that point; composure was suddenly a foreign language. There was no composure. Panic reigned jealously over my small frame. Yet he, in the midst of everything, remained stoic. I thought, for a moment, that his expression seemed almost serene as we stared in mutual silence.

"I'll ask again. Where. Did. You. Hide. Her?"

"I don't know where she is," he whispered.

But he never took his eyes off me.

"That's a lie. You know exactly where she is."

Asher's head was pulled back sharply and then smashed against the floor. My pulse jumped, and I began to shake badly, as though it were me being pounded and not him. Oh, God, if only it weren't him.

"I'll ask _again_. Where did you hide her?!"

Same answer, same reaction. Asher's head was smashed against the floor. The blade never left its position at the back of his neck, several red lacerations already marring the skin's surface.

"WHERE. DID. YOU. HIDE. HER?!"

Same answer, same reaction. A long silence ensued.

"Fine... so be it," the man relented. "If you won't tell me, then I have no more use for you."

He raised the blade.

**--L--**

Before the lockdown initiated, L had entered the administration's office. It was funny how there seemed to be no secretaries around; even at this hour, one would think that there'd be someone on hand to answer phone calls, or some petty thing like that. To his dismay, there was also no bowl of candies.

Of course, when he walked around the main office desk to take a seat on its swivel chair, it came as a surprise to discover a woman bound with thick rope lying unconscious on the seat. Or, if she weren't simply unconscious, she may have been...

* * *

**Waning of the Moon: The Tide Recedes**

**--A--**

"It's all right," he said. His voice was suddenly calm, as though actually trying to soothe someone. "You won't go alone. When I find her, she'll join you. Isn't that great? After all this time, you'll finally be with your daughter."

..._your daughter_.

"Isn't that great?!"

The blade fell, and so did my tears.

The little rivulets running down my face were mirrors of the red tributaries that coursed along his body and pooled on the carpet beneath him. He was so close, I could have extended a hand and touched him. The viscous fluid radiated slowly outward, reaching for me, as though by Asher's conscious will. He had always been reaching out to me.

_Not every day, but sometimes, I found a new object lying in the dirt_...

Everything was mute in this dimension, this cold and timeless space, as I watched the blade come down again and again. I didn't hear the assaulter speak; I don't even know if he did or not. I only watched the victim, who never flinched or panicked, though he was not killed immediately. The blade slowly carved his life away.

But he never took his eyes off me.

**-x-**

The sirens took a long time in coming.

The assaulter was still going at it, but Asher's eyes had gone unfocused a long time ago. My own eyes, drawn wide with horrors I could never verbalize, were attached irrevocably to this scene.

Then, all of a sudden, sirens pierced the air from outside. The automated voice on the loudspeaker proclaimed a system override, that the lockdown was now concluded. The assaulter instantly darted up and out of the room, and I saw no more of him. That person. That infernal person.

I crawled out pitifully from under the bed. Logic said that the murderer could come back, that I should wait, that I should keep out of sight until my safety could be ensured. Intuition made no comment. But my heart said to come out and honor this man, who died on account of me. I could not... I would not refuse to acknowledge this.

As the sirens blared, barely pervading my muted dimension, I took his hand in mine. It was still warm, a contrast to the cold and timeless space. I knelt there, holding on to this gigantic hand with both of my tiny ones. Meanwhile, the dawn filtered in through the window, casting the room in a pinkish glow, golden rays peeking through the cloud cover. Even when I heard the sound of rushing footsteps down the hall, into the room, and in my ear as an officer tried to ascertain the wellness of my being, I never took my eyes off him.

It was by his contribution that I was created -- I was his daughter, if the murderer's words held any worth at all -- and it was by his sacrifice that I remain in existence.

No... it was by his love that these things came to pass.

* * *

**From the Author: **Did you catch that? Lind. As in, Lind L. Taylor.

Now, allow me to explain. The purpose of these four chapters was to get a "before and after" view of A. The first two chapters were kinda slow, mild, not much going on... makes for a listless, apathetic life, doesn't it? Then things get a little crazy. A is forced to recognize and juggle her logic and intuition -- two key qualities of any Wammy genius. But additionally, by witnessing the death of her father, A has acquired two unique traits.

Empathy: the ability to feel the pain of others.  
Altruism: the quality of giving oneself for the benefit of another.

These will be her defining qualities among the threesome of L, A, and B.


	5. Denouement

**Note:** Here's the final installment! It's just a short closing chapter that transitions into Love Lies Bleeding, the next story.

* * *

**"A Letter Left Unsung"****  
**Chapter 5: Denouement

**--x--**

Sing me something soft,  
Sad and delicate,  
Or loud and out of key,  
Sing me anything.  
We're glad for what we've got,  
Done with what we've lost,  
Our whole lives laid out right in front of us.

- _Existentialism on Prom Night_, Straylight Run

**--x--**

Be strong.

That's the only thing this asylum's ever taught me.

**-x-**

When the children in the Juvenile Ward fell in sudden bouts of epilepsy (1), or choked on their food because they had forgotten how to swallow, 625000 was the one who cleared the room and called for help. It was her responsibility, being the only unimpaired.

When the more aggressive children were disciplined with the belt because the attendants were tired of administering drugs, 625000 was the one to close the door. She told the other inmates, and herself, that it was fine -- that this was necessary, and they were not involved. It was her responsibility, being the only one with enough sense to close the door and plug their ears.

And when Dr. Lind L. Taylor murdered the patient in room 228 this morning, 625000 was the one who divulged the secrets of the asylum to the law officers. She explained the entire scenario: past murders, current murders, location of evidence, identity of perpetrator, and motives. It was her responsibility, being the only surviving witness.

Be strong.

Well, she tried. She tried do the right thing -- to stick a bandage over the wound like she was supposed to, even though she knew it wouldn't kill the pain. Yes, she told the officers who the murderer was and how the murder came about -- but she could not undo the damage already done. And what did it matter now if the doctor was apprehended? Hadn't he already had his satisfaction? Asher Wammy was dead.

Be strong.

Even when you know you've failed.

* * *

**Room 228**

**--x--**

I was still there. I hadn't moved since the morning, even after the officers had left and the body was removed.

I was now sitting on the bed and staring out the window, down at the cobblestone path I knew so well. From this perspective, things looked... well, things looked exactly the same. The outside world was totally unchanged, and Asher Wammy's sacrifice would go unknown for all of time, because, really, it didn't matter to the outside world.

But on the inside, I could still feel his presence. The intangible rays of sunset refracted through the large window, encompassing the room in a golden, hazy mist, dotted here and there by glinting dust particles. This room looked like perpetual autumn: beautiful, but solemn and decaying. Just sitting here gave me a nostalgic feeling, sweet and sad.

I heard the soft shifting of feet against carpet as someone entered the room. The door was open, of course -- I was afraid to close it. Closing it would mean I'd have to open it again, and... I... was afraid of what could lurk on the other side.

The whispery footsteps stopped, and I felt the mattress bounce slightly with added weight. Glancing to the side, I saw a figure hunched beside me.

"...What, L? You know I hate it when you just stare."

"We got him," he said bluntly.

"I see that."

"You were right."

"I told you."

We sat in awkward silence for a while.

"Are you sad?"

Was I? I didn't even know. I just had this stupid numb feeling, like some canvas was thrown over my mind, and I could only see obscure figures through the thin sheet. This numb feeling. I don't know.

"I... should... be. My daddy was killed."

"Oh, you knew? Asher told me to keep it a secret, but I suppose it does not matter now."

Somehow, I was not surprised. L knew a lot of things.

"You know," he began, "your deductions and observational skills were quite impressive. I believe you have solved your very first case. And you're only..." He looked me up and down. "...Four? Five? I solved my first when I was eight."

I ignored his insulting errors and gave him a _look_ that bespoke of how little that meant to me.

"You understand that Watari -- ah, that is, Mr. Wammy -- is now your legal guardian."

I just stared at him numbly.

"He has an orphanage for gifted children, like you."

I didn't answer.

"You would like it there, I think."

You're telling me to just up and leave.

But... I still had so much that I needed to know. That Mathilde woman -- could she have been my mother? Was she dead? What was that... grotesque humanoid thing... in the Facility? Since when were there two Ruvies? Why can't I bear to leave this appalling institution?

My frigid numbness was slowly melting. I don't know why, but...

"--lots of candy, a bigger room, toys if you want--"

...this place was...

"--ou like dolls, don't you? Girls like dolls, right? You could have as many--"

...home?

"--and there's a garden. Mr. Ruvie said you like gardens."

Or maybe I'm just deranged.

**-x-**

I took a sharp inhale of breath as my vision fogged up and my eyes began to sting. Quietly, I wiped a hand across the upper half of my face and sniffed. '_Well, we all knew this was coming_...' I thought, hiccuping a tiny bit. L reached over and patted me awkwardly on the back of the head. It only served to further upset me, and I swatted his hand.

"I don't want to," I managed to say between hiccups, "I don't want to go."

"Why?"

I sniffed and wiped at my eyes again. "Because... I don't know what lurks outside the door," I whispered. Now, I didn't mean that literally, and I hoped L could understand. Not the door to this room, no -- although that frightened me, too. I meant the metaphorical "door" to the outside world, where things were unpredictable, and where the loss of one life was as unimportant as the loss of a single grain of sand on the beach.

I covered my face with my arms and shut my eyes, huddling into myself. This was a slap at my pride. A cold, hard slap. Be strong? Well... I tried.

And suddenly, there was another voice in the room.

"Oh now, don't you cry, dear."

_Daddy?_

Something pricked me in the arm, and I turned around to see Mr. Wammy holding a tiny needle to my arm. A tranquilizer? Stunned, I said nothing.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Amy, your father told me to give you this; he thought you'd like it. For your bad dreams." A small, Native American dreamcatcher dangled from L's thumb and forefinger. It was authentic-looking, with a tiny bell dangling at the base of the feathers.

_For your bad dreams._

And so I dreamt.

* * *

(1) Epilepsy - disorder affecting the nervous system; characterized by severe convulsions, usually with loss of consciousness.

* * *

**From the Author:** Tranquilized?! Crazy. And so, this will continue into the next story, "Love Lies Bleeding," which should be up by tomorrow. (I actually finished the prologue for that before I finished the ending of this. xD)

_À bientôt, mes amis_. (See you soon, mah buddies!)


End file.
